


Fifty Shades of Rose

by Liara_90



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, F/F, Gags, Light Bondage, One Shot, POV Third Person, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Seriously This Is Mostly Fluff, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 00:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11726121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: “Hey Amy, you know about that bondage stuff?”Rosa Diaz wants to try something after work. Amy Santiago is a bit surprised, but more than willing to oblige.A down-to-earth bondage fic. Far fluffier than the title suggests.





	Fifty Shades of Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Extra Key](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905570) by [FreshBrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains). 



> What we have here is a textbook case of the author looking for something specific, finding it, wanting more, not finding more, and deciding to write it themselves.

“Hey Amy, you know about that bondage stuff?”

Rosa’s words - coming as they did without either prompting or warning - caused Amy’s hand to slip on the keyboard, her finger hitting an _o_ when she’d been aiming for the _l_. The misspelled _poolice_ flashed mockingly on Amy’s screen, the little red underline ruining her four-day no-typo streak. Yet another reason to be glad that they had the bullpen to themselves.

“Yes. I mean, um, _yeah_ , I know it. Kinda.”

Amy’s response was sputtering, one half of her mind at war with the other half. The good Amy - the one with the straight As who never once sipped a beer underage - knew that this was one of the things that she actually _shouldn’t_ know anything about. The other half - the part of her that was Detective Amy Santiago - knew more than anyone off the street would have guessed. Because you didn’t make fifty felony arrests in a year without learning about the _vast_ spectrum of human sexual expression. “Kinda weird, right?”

“Kind of, I guess?” Amy offered in reply. She really had no idea where this conversation had come from - the only thing she could think of was that they’d had lunch at a Tex-Mex place across from the Frisky Business ‘adult novelty’ store. Because even after years of working side-by-side, Rosa Diaz could be such a cipher; decrypting what her partner-slash-lover meant had gotten _easier_ but still not _easy_ for Amy. It didn’t help that Rosa gave no clues with her intonation; she could have been talking about a cold case or a dive bar or what she thought of the new falafel guy.

A silence hung in the otherwise-empty precinct, like the hazy cloud of a just-sprayed fire extinguisher. An analogy they all used probably a _bit_ too regularly.

“It’s not like, super-weird, though,” Rosa finally said, perhaps just a hair quieter than usual.

“Oh, totally!” agreed Amy, inwardly kicking her own over-enthusiasm. That wasn’t the right word. More... _eagerness_? Still not right. She just wanted it known that she wasn’t some judgemental nun. Right.

Amy glanced across the room at Rosa, whose right eyebrow was now raised to an angle conveying coy amusement. Amy blushed, and hurriedly refocused her gaze on the unfinished memo on her screen. Rosa should have known better than to distract her ( _at work!_ ) with that scar and that smirk.

They sat in silence for the rest of the shift.

* * *

The passenger door swung open just as Amy was keying the ignition. Rosa dropped herself gracelessly into the seat, a wordless _thud_ , eyes facing forward.

“I thought you said you were staying late to finish the drafts for ATF?” Amy said, as the engine roared (or rather, _purred softly_ , befitting its meticulous maintenance) to life.

“I did,” Rosa replied, in her usual, laconic way. Now it was Amy’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Turned out I can just copy-paste all the scheduling things,” she appended, lest Amy think she was cutting corners at work.

“Oh, great.”

Amy drove, the gridded streets of Midwood and Bensonhurst taking nary a quantum of conscious thought to navigate. Rosa fiddled half-heartedly with the radio for several fruitless minutes, before pounding the thing _off_ with a bump of her knuckle. She exhaled, loudly, tilting her head back to stare at the roof.

“So wanna try it tonight?” Rosa asked, flexing her jaw like there was an invisible piece of gum in her mouth.

Somehow, Amy didn’t need to ask ‘ _try what_ ’. For which both women were wordlessly thankful. “Oh, like... _this_ tonight?”

It really was remarkable how much ridicule Rosa could convey without changing a muscle in her expression.

“ _Hehe_ , dumb question, right,” Amy sputtered, her grip tightening around the steering wheel until her knuckles were skeleton-white. Some part of her subconscious began fantasizing about a big terrorist attack, or something similarly urgent...

Rosa’s skull hit the headrest, hard enough to bounce. “You know it’s totally cool if you don’t want to.” Her head seemed to bob for a few moments, before turning to look straight at Santiago. “I really couldn’t care.”

They pulled up to a red light - one of the _long_ ones, Amy knew - giving her a fleeting chance to compose herself. “No, Rosa, I mean... I mean I kind of want to. To try. Too.” She was so wrapped up in her girlfriend’s piercing eyes that Amy overlooked the butchery of the English language she’d just undertaken. “I’ve just never done anything like this before and I’m worried about... screwing things up. For you.”

“Don’t be.” Rosa’s response was deadpan and reflexive, and somehow oh-so-reassuring. “It’s just sex. Even when it’s bad it’s good.” Her tone was still drier than sandpaper, but a small, self-amused grin crept across her face. “Light’s green.”

Amy’s foot was on the gas before she even looked, earning her a haranguing _en español_ from the elderly lady she’d just cut off. Rosa’s wry smirk remained plastered to her face.

“I just don’t want you to think that I’m some kind of goody two-shoes who only has sex through a bedsheet for procreation.” Her fingers splayed over the rim of the steering wheel, as they tended to do in times of stress.

“I figured that out already,” answered Rosa, returning her attention to the passing streetlights. “And who has sex through a bedsheet. That’s weird.”

“Right. Definitely. But I mean I just don’t want you to be disappointed if I’m not a very good Anastasia Steele.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“You know... the woman... in _Fifty Shades of Grey_.”

Rosa let out a disapproving _snort_. “You actually read that shit?”

“It was the Brooklyn Inter-Precinct Fiction Book Club choice for _three months in a row_. How could I have maintained my membership if I hadn’t read it?!”

Diaz, of course, would have experienced no such dilemma. But that weird sense of devotion was kind of one of the things she found really lovable about Amy. So she kept the biting retorts to herself.

Plus - she belatedly realized - she had to further clarify what she wanted. And Diaz _hated_ having to explain her wants/needs/hopes/desires. Only the fact that she was alone in a car with a woman she loved made the thought of emotional expression anything less than nauseating.

“I... kind of wanted... to try...” Diaz suddenly found the window switch _immensely_ fascinating to fiddle with... “being the Anastasia. I guess.” She continued flicking the switch, listening to the impotent protests of a window _already raised_ as high as it could go, yet being asked to rise higher still. “If that’s not too dumb.”

“Oh.”

Diaz made a wordless snarl, directed entirely at her reflection in the side view mirror. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not weird,” Amy reassured her, and those words were just impossibly heartfelt and true. “Just... a little surprising. But you know what they say, ‘ _when you assume, you make_ -’”

“-usually pretty good guesses on the information you have,” interrupted Diaz. She toed the car mat. How Amy managed to keep it so fucking immaculate was beyond her. “I just... wanted to try something different. Dunno. Might be fun.”

“Oh, definitely!” Since Amy practically sweat vanilla Diaz knew there wasn’t a story behind that, just her usual chipperness. Which was kind of a shame.

It would have been nice for _one_ of them to know what they were doing.

* * *

They enjoyed normalcy for a while.

Amy pulled up to the cute little townhome they were now legally joint-owners of. It was, by any reasonable assessment, a beautiful home: Amy’s natural fastidiousness and organization neatly complemented Rosa’s eye for design; together they kept the place looking like it was ready to be listed.

Diaz unpacked the trunk and took out the trash (and recycling), while Amy prepared dinner. She was a terrible housewife (her words, certainly not Rosa’s), but she apparently considered it some kind of pseudo-familial duty to be able to make them an after-work meal. Diaz certainly couldn’t have cared less, though neither would she complain about the plate of steamed vegetables, rice and beef being served up.

Their meal was mostly mute, punctuated by the scraping of forks against plates, the gentle _sloshing_ of an Oregon red into wine glasses fresh from the drying rack. Diaz hated small talk, everyone knew that. Not many people understood just how much she _appreciated_ quietness. Not the awkward silences that were the products of shitty conversations. Just the kind of... _comfort_... that came from reveling in a beloved’s presence. Not every moment needed to be filled with words to be pleasant.

And Amy was happy to oblige. She understood the need as much as anyone. Their lives were _noisy_ \- metaphorically and quite literally - and she loved seeing how Her Rosa changed when they were finally home and the sounds of the streets shut out. Amy herself watched a small TV off to the side of the kitchen - reading the closed-captioning of the last session of New York State Assembly she’d DVR’d - all while sneaking glances over forkfuls at the woman across the table. You really _could_ see Diaz visibly unwinding, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders...

Rosa did the dishes, as usual. Part of their unspoken social contract, an amicable division of labor. Amy fought the urge to check her emails. That Rosa never felt neglected due to the time she spent making binders and organizing papers was something she was wordlessly thankful for. It was hard to tell which was the more nervous of the two. Neither knew where to start.

But it was Amy who took the lead.

She snuck up (or so she liked to think) behind Diaz, wrapping arms around a waist and feeling the toned abdominals beneath. She pressed her face into the back of Diaz’ leather jacket, inhaling a scent she now associated with love and comfort. The spring weather meant they’d left the windows open, but a cool breeze had kept them both jacketed. (Amy loved this time of year, incidentally).

“You’re feeling frisky tonight,” mused Diaz, teasingly, as her girlfriend’s hands trekked south. “Watching those geriatrics talk about sewage infrastructure co-financing really does it for you, huh?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Amy retorted. “Or else...”

Her sentence trailed off, but her hand continued the sentiment, landing with a firm _slap_ against Rosa’s jeans-clad ass.

“Ow,” Diaz stated, shuffling slightly in response to the slap.

“Oh, did that hurt?” Amy asked, dropping the act in a heartbeat.

“What? No. Boyle’s hit me harder than that. I was just surprised,” answered Rosa, in a tone conveying the least amount of surprise of any human in existence. “Slap all you want.” She even swayed her hips, invitingly.

“Right.” Amy, of course, made absolutely no move to do so, the moment of flirtatious spontaneity having passed.

Rosa glanced down at her girlfriend. “C’mon, let’s go tie me up,” she said, having immediately detected the wavering resolve in her partner’s will.

“Wait!” Amy grabbed Rosa’s wrists, keeping her from walking away, in a maneuver the latter had to admit she kind of liked. “Tie you up with what? We don’t have any rope.”

Diaz blinked.

* * *

“Okay, we have two standard-issue police handcuffs, one pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs-”

“-They don’t actually lock.”

“-one bag of disposable zip-ties, half a roll of duct tape, a full roll of packing tape, and a large ball of string.”

The two of them stared down at the assorted pile - most of it raided from various drawers in the kitchen - that was now dumped on top of their bed. Amy groaned. “ _Ugh_ it was _so_ much classier in the book.”

“Stop comparing us with fiction. Or else you’ll be complaining that our sex doesn’t look like lesbian porn.” Which contained - as they had _repeatedly_ had to inform one Det. Jacob Peralta - _significantly_ more scissoring than The Real Thing ever did.

“Right. Good point.” Amy remained stock-still for several long, wordless seconds. “So... what should I do?”

Rosa shrugged, completely and utterly unhelpfully. “Just... tie me up. And then do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Okay. Whatever the fuck I want. Clear as day.” She even did a little fist-pump thing. Amy moved to take a half-step towards Rosa. “And... you’re _sure_ you want to be the submissive in this scenario?”

Rosa actually folded her arms across her chest at that. “Well when you say it like that it sounds dumb.” The word _submissive_ , after all, was not one that Detective Rosa Diaz regularly had much use for.

“You’re right. I’m overthinking all this BD...S...M... stuff,” Amy replied, sussing out the acronym from her memory. “This is just us having wholesome, lesbian, non-procreative fun.”

“Yeah. Just fun,” Rosa agreed, suppressing an instinct to point out the weirdness of her girlfriend’s way with words. Instead she grabbed Amy’s elbows - still covered by the cotton sleeves of her blouse - and pulled her close for a kiss.

An adolescent male raised on a diet of lesbian porn marketed to heteronormatives would have been disappointed at the lack of Sapphic lust. For all her toughness, Diaz was a gentle kisser, and for all her manic scheduling, Amy took her time. For a minute or an hour, they lost themselves in gentle touches of lips against lips, of hands in hands.

Amy pulled away first, some unknowable amount of time later, belatedly remembering that she had a role she was supposed to be performing. “Alright,” she began, pressing two fingers into Diaz’ breastbone and pushing her (gently) backwards. “I’m going to step out for a minute,” she continued, carefully sliding Rosa’s leather jacket over her shoulders. Diaz took the cue, and the garment fell to the floor a moment later. “When I come back... I only want to see you... wearing this...” A finger curled around Rosa’s top, plucking at the bra beneath. “Is that understood?”

“Perfectly,” answered Diaz, with a wolfish grin. “... _miss_?”

“ _Ma’am_ ,” Amy corrected.

That grin never wavered. “Of course... _ma’am_.” The warm and bubbly feeling in Amy’s chest told her that she could _actually maybe_ get used to hearing Rosa say that. “Though seriously, where are you going?”

* * *

“You needed to get your _shoes_?”

Amy blushed fifty shades of scarlet as she re-entered the bedroom, the change in her wardrobe noticed _immediately_ (to her dismay). “They’re a part of my professional outfit,” she replied, more defensively than she needed to. “They make me feel...”

“Confident?” Diaz supplied. She was currently lying face-up on the bed, near-enough spread-eagle, flicking a piece of lint off the pillowcase. She had, pursuant to Amy’s request/order, stripped down to her undergarments, which at the moment consisted of a dark red bra and an un-matching pair of black panties. More importantly, damn-near every beautiful curve and muscle were displayed for full-on ogling...

“...what were we talking about?” asked Amy, the visible results of a healthy gym regimen having derailed her train-of-thought.

“Not important. Now come on, Wonder Woman, let’s get with the fucking bondage.”

“Right.” Amy glanced around. “But from now on.... No swearing. And that’s an order.”

Diaz rolled her eyes. “Fine. But easy on the roleplay. I’m not ready to sign some blood contract to be your sex slave yet.” She toed the pile of impromptu sex toys at the edge of the bed. “Pick something. Ma’am.”

It took Amy’s brain a whole two seconds to reach the logical conclusion.

The string was too weak to be of any use. The fuzzy handcuffs didn’t really work. Duct tape stuck painfully to skin and she wasn’t sure how much she needed. Zipties could leave deep gashes on bare skin, and could continually tighten and damage circulation. (Amy knew she would _never_ forgive herself if Rosa suffered permanent nerve damage because she was distracted by the throes of an orgasm.)

“I knew it,” Diaz said, as Amy reached for her handcuffs. She stretched her arms languorously over her head, fingers curling around the bars of their headboard.

“Handcuffs are safe,” Amy replied, hopping onto the bed and sliding a few inches over to Rosa’s shoulders. “The cuffs double-lock so as not to damage circulation. There are a total of four emergency keys in the house, not counting the one I’m holding right now. And I know how to use them.”

One of the steel cuffs ratched shut around Rosa’s wrist, as if to underline the point. Her other wrist was similarly locked a second later. _Just_ the right amount of tightness, inescapable but not intolerable. In the course of their academy training both Rosa and Amy had been handcuffed many, _many_ times, but somehow never quite like this...

Amy slid back, revealing that the key was threaded through an unadorned chain necklace, now resting against her collarbone. That she was completely clothed diminished no aspect of her sexiness in Rosa’s eyes. “So... how do you feel?”

“Exposed and feminine,” stated Diaz, in a tone of voice usually reserved for commenting on blood spatter patterns. “It’s kind of hot.”

“Oh, really?” asked Amy, one hand running up Rosa’s bare thigh, perilously close to the panties. “And what about _moi_?” Her free hand was on her blouse, undoing one button below what office dress code considered proper.

“ _Really_ fucking hot.”

“ _Tsk_ ,” Amy _tsked_ , running a hand over Rosa’s petulant lips. “I told you: no swearing.”

“Well fuck me,” replied Diaz, with a ghost of a grin. “Guess you’ll have to gag me.”

“...I can do that,” Amy said, almost tripping over herself to grab the half-used roll of duct tape. “Rosa Diaz-” she tore a strip of tape the length of her hand “-you have the right to remain silent. I’m going to _make sure_ you exercise it.”

“I thought we agreed no roleplaying,” Diaz stated, apprehension creeping its way into her eyebrow. Amy was still smiling a little too manically at her own little joke, though, gleefully enveloping Rosa’s lips beneath the strip of tape.

A kiss followed soon after, though the sensation of lips against duct tape was more novel than sensuous. Amy, thankfully, followed-up with a string of kisses to less-covered patches of skin, sending shivers down Rosa’s body as kisses gamboled from her mouth to her cheek to her bare and bared neck.

Whatever her inhibitions had been, Amy (evidently) had no problem adapting to the new lovemaking position. She slid up beside Diaz in the bed, one hand playing with her hair, the other testing the elasticity of her undergarments. She took her time, reveling in the novelty, not even bothering to turn the music on or the lights off, as they usually did.

And before long, Diaz made her first escape attempt, the handcuffs _clinking_ loudly as she unthinkingly tried to stroke Amy’s hair. Amy - taking note of the motion - moved herself _just_ out of touching range. Neither woman was particularly prone to pornographic acts of bedroom groping, but Diaz was indisputably the touchier of the two. She liked to touch, grab, rub, pet, stroke, claw, scratch. Usually gently, sometimes roughly, always to Amy’s enjoyment.

....and _yet_.... There was something indisputably adorable about the pouty look in Diaz’s eyes as she realized what exactly bondage imposed on and exacted from her.

_...Maybe this is why so many men become freaky sexual predators...._

_...You did_ not _compare an explicitly-consensual bedroom activity between two lovers to the rapacious crimes inflected by the powerful upon the powerless..._

_...Well obviously there’s a qualitative difference but is the underlying psycho-emotive motivation the same?_

_...No more than enjoying violent video games means one will ‘enjoy’ committing heinous criminal acts. Even if there_ is _some underlying neurological overlap it couldn’t possibly have any meaningful predictive ability. If any statistically significant fraction of the people who read_ 50 Shades _acted improperly on their desires than CompStat would have exploded...._

_...That’s a reasonable_ inductive _conclusion, but surely you can do better, Amy! One of the major criminology journals must have published a study on this. What you’re looking for is a longitudinal and latitudinal study, controlling for your usual socio-economic variables... Or better yet, maybe there’s a meta-analysis where-_

“ ** _Amy!_** ”

Diaz’s voice ripped Amy back to reality like a bucketful of cold water. She looked up and saw Diaz, sitting as upright as the handcuffs allowed, her brow creased with concern. “You just spaced out for like ten minutes.”

Amy blinked. “Did I actually?”

“Okay more like fifteen seconds. Still weird.”

“Oh, sorry! I just got distracted thinking about... work, I guess?” Amy shook her head, using both hands to tuck her hair behind her ears. Rosa raised an eyebrow, but seemed to accept that as an answer. “Wait, didn’t I gag you?”

Diaz almost scowled at that. The strip of tape was still nominally _on_ her mouth, but clinging at most ‘precariously’ to Rosa’s skin. “It’s a piece of tape, not superglue. I open my mouth wide and most of it peels off.” It was hard to tell if Diaz was more annoyed at the flimsiness of her bondage or the naïveté of her partner. “It was a dumb idea.”

Amy crawled back atop Diaz, peeling the flimsy strip completely off her mouth to get unfettered access to her lips. Rosa unwound at the kisses that followed, sinking back into the mattress, while Amy’s hand wandered towards her own erogenous zones.

“You’re sure you’re not too weirded out by all this?” asked Diaz, when their lips finally parted for more than a short breath. “Because that was definitely a _weirded-out_ face.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you from... _this_ ,” murmured Amy in reply. She was starting to regret asking Rosa to keep her bra on. With her hands cuffed overhead there was no easy way to remove it, and Amy wasn’t really a fan of the bra-cups-resting-on-stomach look. She contented herself with the fabric.

“Don’t worry about it. If you want, you can just un-cuff me and we can do it like we normally do.”

“Oh?” This time it was Amy’s turn for a playful grin. “Is the bondage _too strict_ for my tough little Diaz?”

Rosa scrunched up her nose. “No. I’m just getting really fucking horny and want to me make sure you’re not too weirded out to get me off.”

“And _there’s_ the woman I fell in love with,” cooed Amy, tapping a finger to the tip of Diaz’ nose. The handcuffed detective twisted away with a pouty scowl. “But I really _do_ think that that has been _quite_ enough cussing for one day.”

“Ballet school couldn’t break me. You don’t stand a chance.”

“But I have something your poor ballet masters didn’t,” replied Amy, the thinning role of tape twirling around one finger.

“Do your worst,” growled Diaz, even as one heel dug into the memory foam mattress. There was, Rosa had to admit, something _really_ fucking hot when Amy’s confidence seeped into dominance. Something worth waiting for Amy to get her shoes.

“Oh, _Rosa Diaz_ , I mostly certainly will,” _growled_ Amy, her voice the menacing purr of a tigress. “Just as soon... as you... tell me your nonverbal safeword.”

Diaz blinked, the moment evaporating. “My what.”

“Your nonverbal safeword,” Amy repeated, the pride in her tone suggesting she’d just correctly spelled _autochthonous_ in the National Bee. “Every submissive has one. It’s how you’ll tell me something’s wrong when you’re gagged.”

“I can still punch a hole through the drywall, does that fucking work?” Diaz asked (mostly but not entirely rhetorically).

Amy paused mid-step, momentarily off-put. “Yes... I suppose that will do...” She shook her head. “But if you think your ‘bad girl’,” (air quotes included) “attitude is going to help you now...”

“Why wouldn’t I? Got me this far,” growled Diaz. Somehow - even handcuffed to a bed in her underwear - she was able to make the menace real. Only Amy’s impeccably-sharp wardrobe kept her from whimpering.

“Because I’m keeping you quiet this time,” replied Amy, matching Rosa in tone, backing up without turning around.

“Amy, why are you going to the laundry hamper?” Diaz asked, as if she was witnessing the most nonsensical sight in the universe.. “And why are you taking a sock out. The only reason you take dirty clothes out of the hamper is to do laundry, and you _better_ not being doing laundry because... You _wouldn’t_.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, _Detective_ Diaz,” murmured Amy, crawling back atop the bed (and scooping up the duct tape as she went). “I’ve gone _full sexual deviant_ now. I’m _so kinky_ , I’ll even use a _dirty_ ankle sock in my foreplay. This is _so wrong_.”

“Oh my god, I finally broke Santiago,” groaned Rosa. Only the way her eyes flitted over to her _amante_ betrayed a flirtatious undertone. “Holt is going to be pissed.”

Amy was atop Rosa a second later, pushing her into the memory foam, Diaz’ toes curling to her touch. So set was she on her task that she didn’t even react to her superior officer-slash-mentor’s name being dropped. “Open up.”

“ _Make me_ ,” Diaz growled, her voice dropping to a deep _contralto._ Amy was fully _on_ her now, and the feel of fabric of Amy’s pants along Rosa’s legs was creating an inch that _really_ needed to be scratched. So to speak.

Their lips pressed, and they were kissing, hungrily and greedily. For once Rosa surrendered to Amy’s advances, letting that whip-smart tongue slip inside her guard. Amy’s thigh was applying pressure in _just_ the right place, and if she could build up just a _little_ more-

“- _Mrrgh_!”

Rosa grunted in righteous indignation as the taste of cotton filled her mouth, courtesy of that sock Amy had never actually let go of. Diaz thrashed about but she didn’t stand a chance, not handcuffed and pinned as she was. Amy gleefully twirled the roll of tape around Diaz’ head with wanton disregard for what the sticky coil was going to do to Rosa’s hair.

“Aaaaand _trapped_. Another flawless victory for Amy Santiago, Dominatrix Extraordinaire.” She even adopted the Wonder Woman pose (as much as one could while kneeling on a bed).

“ _Hm hhtm nhh_!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t make out whatever uncouth profanities you’re no doubt trying to yell at me,” Amy said, still grinning idiotically. And then her fingers were curling around the front of Rosa’s panties. “And now you truly are helpless.”

Rosa realized it was quite possible she had never been this turned-on in her life. And that was including the time she’d snuck in and fucked in the ballet master’s office mid-recital.

And then Rosa stopped realizing things entirely, because Amy’s fingers were pressing into the most sensitive spot on her entire body and-

\- the wordless _groan_ of undisguised lust only extended Amy’s smile. Both women were naturally quiet lovers - Rosa as an extension of her usual personality, Amy because she had a lifetime of repressesion and inhibition to overcome - and extracting even muffled groans was usually a win in Santiago’s book. To have Rosa Diaz positively _mewling_ at her touch was... well...

... _aaand we’re back to wondering why people become sexual deviants again..._

And then Diaz damn-near kicked Amy in an attempt to draw her in, and Amy lost herself in the lovemaking again. Or if that was too corny a term (and Amy internally admitted that it _was_ ), she became focused _solely_ on giving Diaz _exactly_ the experience she deserved.

She slid up beside Rosa as she let her fingers do the work, kneading deeper into flesh flush with anticipation. She kissed Rosa’s face, tape and skin alike, savoring the way Rosa’s eyes were _squeezed_ shut, the way her nostrils flared wide as they greedily inhaled air. The palm of her hand pressed into Rosa’s clit, moving in familiar motions, having long-since learned how firm and how fast Diaz liked things...

..Rosa’s chest rose and fell at a thunderous tempo, her breaths became ragged as Amy slipped two fingers inside her...

“I love you, my helpless prisoner,” whispered Amy, leaning in close to Rosa’s ear to be sure she was heard over her captive’s pounding heartbeat. Fingers slid deeper, stroking deep, erogenous grooves. “ _But you’re_ _mine, forever and ever_...”

Rosa let out a choked _groan_ as her whole body began tensing, her thighs squeezing open and shut as the wave of an orgasm coursed through her. Her toes curled into points, her heels dug into the mattress, her breathing became even more jagged. Her thighs wobbled for a few more seconds as the last shivers of ecstasy raced down her spine, before she let out one last, nasally exhale, the sound of a ball deflating...

“Was that good for you, Rosa?” whispered Amy, as she slid her fingers out of Rosa’s vagina as gently as was possible. The extraction still provoked a pitiable _moan_ at the change in pressure. Rosa didn’t answer, or even acknowledge the question, just letting her head sink into the hopelessly-crumpled pillow beneath her. Amy wiped the worst of Rosa’s wetness on her pant leg (it was due for a dry-cleaning anyways), using those fingers to brush a few strands of hair out of Rosa’s face.

She looked so peaceful. Rosa wasn’t usually one to fall asleep after sex - if anything, it fired her up - but her eyes remained closed, her breaths slowing, the sweat drying against her skin as if-

”-Oh my God I am _so_ sorry” shouted Amy, causing Rosa to sit bolt-upright. Or rather, she _tried_ to sit bolt-upright, but her hands were still cuffed to the headboard, and the motion caused her to crash right back into the mattress. Next thing she knew Amy was straddling her, scissors in her hands, a panicked look on her face.

The whole situation caused Rosa’s heart to spike to like a hundred and eighty, and she instinctively tried to roll as Amy came at her with the scissors. She was still bound and pinned, and halfway towards punching a promised hole in the drywall when the blades slipped between her cheek and the duct tape still wrapped over it.

Tape which was being ripped off without ceremony a half-second later, taking a few layers of her epidermis with it, by the feel. Rosa tried to say something to the effect of ‘ _what the fucking hell_ ’ but the sock was still in her mouth, albeit being plucked out by Amy’s fingers. Something about the motion caused Rosa to gag slightly, and she coughed at her own clenching throat.

“Okay... _now_ what the hell?” Diaz demanded, now that she was intelligible once again. Except Amy didn’t even spare her a wayward glance, preferring to fiddle with the cuffs, only looking back once Rosa’s right wrist was free.

“I’m so sorry! I can’t believe myself. Are you okay?”

“I’m kind of freaked out,” Diaz stated, though at least her voice had regained its usual flatness. “Though not as much as you are, apparently.”

“I forgot the medical shears in the bathroom!” Amy stated, grabbing the stainless-steel implement that she had just been waving in Rosa’s face. “That’s like... Rule 101 of safe bondage sex. What if the sock had caused you to gag, which caused you to throw up, which caused you to choke and asphyxiate while I was caught up finger-blasting you.”

“ _Finger-blasting_? What are you, a fourteen year old jock?”

“I’m sorry. I was stuck in an elevator with Jake for twenty minutes yesterday.”

“My condolences.”

“Thanks.” And then Amy shook her head, as if to shake off the distracting effect of light banter. “I just... didn’t want you to asphyxiate on my Tuesday sock because I didn’t take the necessary safety precautions.”

Diaz blinked. “This is your Tuesday sock?” she asked, finding the sock on the bedsheets and holding it up between two fingers. Somehow, she hadn’t realized that her girlfriend chose her socks by the weekday.

“Yes and _oh my god it’s drenched in saliva we need to do laundry_ now.”

Rosa grinned at that, balling up the saliva-soaked sock and lobbing it at Amy’s chest. “Aw, come on. I thought you were such a dirty girl now.”

Amy’s whole body seemed to recoil at the impact. “Nope. I take it back. Sex through a bedsheet for procreation only from now on.”

“Come here.”

Rosa’s tone wasn’t really a requesting one, but Amy could hear the gentle plea within it. And so she let Rosa envelop her, bare arms around her torso, hot breath on her neck. She let Rosa drag her back to the bed, then onto it. Graceless toppling, wanton disregard for the amount of ironing all those creases would require. Just small smiles and playful eyes, bathing in familiar scents.

“That was some good sex,” Rosa stated, with the enthusiasm of a Knicks fan at halftime. Not that that made Rosa Diaz any less sincere. “You want anything?” Her eyes darted down to _way_ below eye level, a wandering foot adding clarity to the offer’s value.

“Oh.... um... I would love to... but... um...”

Rosa had the mercy to through a sputtering Amy a lifeline. “Kinda grossed yourself out with all that ‘me dying’ crap?”

Amy winced, loudly. “It kind of killed the mood for me, sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Amy waited for a few long seconds, staring into Rosa’s eyes (easy to do when they were lying face-to-face), until she realized nothing else was coming. “You still have tape in your hair.”

“I’ll get it later.”

And then they were kissing again, a tangled, sweaty mess of trust and love. Amy managed to shrug her way out of most of her clothes, which were cast to the floor without a word of protest, and when Rosa flicked the bedside lamp off, Amy was ready to go to sleep _without_ brushing her teeth first.

“I had fun tonight. Not sure if it was worth the stress it caused you, but thanks.”

“Hey, if the State of New York hadn’t stopped recognizing them in 1933, we would _totally_ be in a common-law marriage by now,” said Amy with a grin. She snuggled up closer to Rosa, who was reposing in a mountain of pillows, the half-closed blinds casting bars of shadows across her torso. “And after the honeymoon, _any_ sex that gets your heart racing is good sex.”

Rosa snorted at that, though mostly at Amy’s attempt at sounding jaded. All those years as cop and she _still_ hadn’t lost her sweetness, try as she sometimes might to hide it. “You’re the best, Amy.”

It had been months after they’d moved in together before the novelty of cohabitation wore off of Amy. That she could wake up in bed next to Rosa one morning, and Rosa would _still_ be there in the evening. It was a really, _really_ nice feeling.

“Love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in the B99 fandom, so I hope it "feels" right. I'm not a great comedy writer, but I tried to keep some of the show's rhythm in the writing. Getting Amy and Rosa's voices right is definitely something I struggled with. Any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Feel free to hit me up on [Tumblr](http://pvoberstein.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/pvoberstein), [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/pvoberstein/), or some other site.


End file.
